


Frostiana: or a History of Aziraphale and Crowley in a Frozen State: And The Wonderful Effects of Snow, Ice and Cold in England

by laydeemayhem



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And a bit of longing, Aziraphale is hungry (for Crowley), Aziraphale is though, Christmas, Crowley is actually not that oblivious, Holidays, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Just Friends (honestly), M/M, Muff - Freeform, Really it's just a whole load of fluff, The last Frost Fair on the Thames, The word muff is used a lot, Unusual places to find a book, Victorian Fashion, Well very nearly Christmas, no seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27965807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laydeemayhem/pseuds/laydeemayhem
Summary: “Is that amuff?”The Thames has frozen over again and Aziraphale is determined to get his hands on the book someone is printing out on the ice! A surprise Crowley appears! Lighthearted bickering and the overuse of the word muff!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	Frostiana: or a History of Aziraphale and Crowley in a Frozen State: And The Wonderful Effects of Snow, Ice and Cold in England

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeaOfBones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaOfBones/gifts).



The fog has burned off the frigid streets of Soho by the time Aziraphale leaves the bookshop. He’s late, as usual, and it isn’t his fault, only he’d had a delivery of Maria Edgeworth’s early work last night and he’d got caught up cataloguing them all and the heavy gloom that accompanied the fog had hidden the rising sun, so it isn’t until the newspaper boy (also late, but who can blame him in this weather) comes knocking that he remembers that today is _the day_. With a squeak and a wiggle he over-tips the delighted newspaper boy, grabs his outerwear and makes for the river. He has to push his way through the crowds of revellers to get to the edges of the Frost Fair and once he finds somewhere to stand that isn’t so crowded he takes a deep fortifying breath as he tries to find his bearings.

“Is that a _muff_?”

Aziraphale spins round, a joyous expression already springing to life across his rosy cheeked face. 

“Crowley, my dear, what an unexpected surprise!” 

The lanky demon is perched on a tall stool that some enterprising entrepreneur has set out on a wooden plank on the ice, under a sheet of canvas stretched out into a rudimentary shelter. There are other punters milling about, clutching chunky clay mugs of something that smells spicy and hot in their shivering fingers, but Crowley stands out like a bruised thumb in the crowd of brightly coloured coats and hats in his usual black from head to toe. Aziraphale can’t help but admire his winter get up; shoulders and hips shown to great effect in a tightly fitted, fur trimmed long skirt and coat as he swings his legs down onto the ice and saunters his way over to where Aziraphale is waiting. 

“Cider?” Crowley offers, and Aziraphale takes his mug eagerly in one hand, burying his nose into the sweetly scented steam that was still twisting in the wintery air. 

“Oh, delicious,” he moans to himself, before taking a deep gulp and sighing. The spicy cider warms him up from the inside, like a charm cast against the deeply cold London winter that eats away at the bones. “This is perfect, Crowley, thank you.” 

“Nrgh, well. S’alright.” 

Aziraphale glances over to Crowley, who is still managing to look like he’s lounging despite standing on the slippery iced over river. A shout goes up and Aziraphale steps quickly to one side to avoid an out-of-control skater who goes barrelling past, accidentally bumping Crowley with his muff. He puts the cider mug down on a table before he drops it.

“Watch it with that ridiculous muff, angel.”

“It is so not ridiculous! Muffs are fashionable! And it keeps my hands warm!”

“But does it really need to be so big? It’s massive, angel, you’ll have someone over.”

“It’s mink,” Aziraphale informs him snootily, wrinkling up his nose and squaring his shoulders out. “And I’ll have you know it’s the perfect size.” 

It wasn’t, it was huge. A small child could fit inside it quite handily, but Aziraphale had seen it in a shop window and fallen in love with the plush cream fur and blue trimmings and bought it immediately.

“…you’ve got food in there, don’t you.”

Aziraphale goes a little pink around the edges.

“Well, maybe I do! They were selling these delightful little hand pies over at the steps, not that it’s any business of yours, and I may have bought some for the purpose of keeping my fingers falling off, it’s terribly cold outside today.”

“It’s December and you’re standing in the middle of a frozen river! Of course it’s cold! That’s why I made sure to layer up, honestly, angel.”

“You do look quite darling today, Crowley.”

And now it’s Crowley’s turn to flush, which he absolutely refuses to do anywhere except his ears, thankfully happily concealed by the black wrap around his carefully curled and pinned hair. He smooths one hand down his fur-trimmed coat, gazing down at the pointy toes of his very fashionable boots. 

“Nrghh, yes, well. Fashion, y’know, s’a vice. Or whatnot. Gotta keep spending that money. And making people envious, that’s, um, that’s a temptation that is.”

“Well I think you look quite fine, even if the colour (or lack thereof) is somewhat outre.” Aziraphale pops a hand pie out of his muff and takes a big bite to stop himself from talking. Crowley did look very tempting, it was true. His long limbs always looked elegant in his signature black, but there was something about the tight curls of his red hair that emphasised his cheekbones today, and his fitted sleeves tucked into his leather gloves in a way that showed off the delicate knobs of his wrists and fine lines of his fingers. Not that Aziraphale was looking, of course.

“Anyway, what are you even doing here, Crowley? I thought you were off bothering Napoleon again, didn’t expect to see you in England until the summer.”

“Nrgh. Well. He’s frothing himself into a tizzy all on his own, didn’t really see the need to hang around. And I missed the last Frost Fair and Downstairs is demanding a review, y’know. The long winters were meant to make everyone depressed. Wouldn’t be surprised if this was the last one, actually, Beez is getting antsy. Says the humans are getting all merry and full of good will and it’s making them itch.” 

“Oh dear, what a shame. I must say, I had heard that things are getting a bit _rambunctious_ further up the river. I would have thought you might be busy up there?”

“Well, you know humans, they’re a pretty creative bunch. I stuck my head in and they seem to have things in hand. And other places.” He leers a little at Aziraphale out of form, and Aziraphale pretends that he isn’t interested in the slightest. When he doesn’t get a response Crowley shrugs and sticks his elegant hands into his pockets and says, nonchalantly, “I was headed over to the printing presses actually. I heard that someone was printing a whole book. Was going to watch in case he splits the ice and falls in.”

Aziraphale bounces a little involuntarily. “Oh! But that’s where I’m going as well! What a delight it will be to have friendly company!” He beams up at Crowley, his face glowing with happiness, for what could be a better day than a walk along a frozen river with one’s best friend to enjoy the wonders of the modern printing press. He says so out loud.

Crowley makes some kind of incomprehensible noise through his nose, flails his arms and goes to stride out across the ice, but his finely turned heel catches in a lump of slush and he teeters for a moment, off balance, arms windmilling.

Aziraphale drops his muff, pies spilling out across the ice, and catches Crowley in his arms. They freeze for a moment, clinging to each other, blue eyes and dark glasses locked in a stare.

Aziraphale titters nervously, and pulls Crowley back upright, clutching at his arms to make sure he finds his footing. “Aha, careful as you go there, my dear, you almost fell.”

“Hngh. Yes.” Crowley bites out, frantically looking anywhere except at Aziraphale as he reluctantly detaches himself from Aziraphale’s strong hands. “Almost.”

There’s an awkward pause as Aziraphale picks up his muff and Crowley smooths down his coat again, ruffling the fur around his neck with skittish fingers. Aziraphale pulls at the collar of his shirt. It was oddly warm today, wasn’t it?

“Shall we be off? I do so want a copy of the book for the shop, it’ll be quite the acquisition.”

“Mmm. Yes. Lets be off then. Indeed.”

Crowley is staring at Aziraphale’s hands and so he can’t help but flex one before popping them back inside the muff and clutching it to his stomach. Crowley gives out a little huff and attempts to stand up straight. He’s acting strange but then, Crowley always acts strange. Aziraphale ignores the butterflies fluttering about in his own chest. 

“Shall we?” he asks tentatively, and is instantly heartened at Crowley’s nod. If this was to be the last Frost Fair then he was determined to enjoy it. And if Crowley being there with him made it that much more enjoyable, well. It’s not like Aziraphale had to tell anyone. 

“I still think the muff is ridiculous,” mutters Crowley, side-eyeing Aziraphale with the tiniest of smirks as Aziraphale pretends to be offended, and they bicker comfortably as they set off across the frozen river together, not quite touching but ineffably drawn together, angel and demon, Enemy and friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Glasgow Fanfic Open Mic Night, Secret Santa Edition (2020) for SeaofBones
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated!


End file.
